


Ballerina

by beeyouteaful



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Tom's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 15:21:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3773218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beeyouteaful/pseuds/beeyouteaful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom takes a trip home to London for a while and accidentally walks in on a dancer practicing in a ballet studio.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ballerina

The musty, old book store smelled like home as I walked between shelves upon shelves of literature. I sighed to myself and found solace from the outside world by getting lost in the spines. The silence always felt peaceful to me each time I perused the store.

String lights hanging from the ceiling lit the shop softly. It was dim enough that I could still see the dust particles dancing in the beams of sunlight that filtered in through the front window. The further back I walked—and trust me, it was a deep store—the darker it got. Even though it was quite eerie at times, it was charming, and I couldn’t help but feel like the whole store was my own personal library.

I rounded the corner of a shelf and found my favorite section: Shakespeare. Go figure, right? A Brit who likes Shakespeare? Unheard of! Anyway, I came to the store to pick up a copy of _Coriolanus_ for my upcoming performance. I had read the play during my university studies, but I needed to brush up on the language.

After I selected the right play, I made my way back through the miles of shelving before I reached the front counter.

“Find everything alright, Tom?”

“Yes, thank you.” The shop owner and I were close. This was the only bookstore I ever shopped in when I was home from filming. It was in a little niche of shops on the outside of the city, out of the way of all the tourist attractions.

“How is the film industry?” He asked.

“It’s alright, I guess. A little hectic. How’s the shop?”

“The same as it always is.” The man smiled warmly at me as he rang up the book. “Old, dusty, and pretty lonely sometimes. You and a few others are the only customers I have.”

“Well, it’s always nice to see you. I’ll try to stop by more often when I’m home to keep you company,” I chuckled. He handed me the book, my receipt, and my change, and then wished me well as I exited the store.

The bright sun blinded me as I walked up the pavement to the nearest tube station. I took in a deep breath of warm air and headed on my way. There weren’t many people on the street, and I could see why the shopkeeper got lonely. Not even locals really came back this way. It was a nice change from the crowded center city.

As I walked along, I heard beautiful music coming from a building up the street. _Is that Bach? Or maybe Tchaikovsky? I wouldn’t know._ When I was closer, I realized that the door to the place was wide open. Peeking my head inside, I didn’t see anyone. _That’s odd_ , I thought. Curiosity got the better of me, and I stepped inside, looking around for anyone that might be playing such a gorgeous tune.

There was a help desk right in front of me, which was lacking its receptionist. I waited for a bit, thinking maybe someone would come help me, but after a few minutes, I decided to explore on my own. I know that sounds bad, but I was curious! I had never experienced this before.

There was a curtain hiding what I assumed to be a back room, and I walked over toward it. The music proceeded to get louder, and I pulled back the curtain a bit, revealing a beautiful ballet studio lined with walls of mirrors. I could see my reflection directly across from me, but there didn’t seem to be anyone else in the room.

Suddenly, a gorgeous ballet dancer glided across the wood floor on her toes. She had beautiful poise and precision, and her movements flowed beautifully. She didn’t notice me in the mirror, so I assumed that she was blocking my reflection.

She was petite, but she moved around the studio like she owned the place. She looked as if she were a moving Degas painting. Her legs went on for days, covered by tight, black leggings. She had a loose, white crop top on—it looked like a large t-shirt cut short—with a black tank top underneath. The collar of her blouse looked stretched out, which made her clavicle visible, but still left something to the imagination.

I watched in awe as she repeatedly moved up onto her toes from flat feet. _Doesn’t that hurt?_ She moved fluidly around the room to the music. Her moves left me mesmerized. Her body was supple and acted as if the music were commanding her movements.

Finally, the music stopped, and she followed. Her eyes fluttered open and she screamed when she saw me. I tensed up and scrambled to assure her that I was not some sort of creep.

“Don’t freak out!” I held my hands up as if to brace myself from an attack. Her eyes were wide with surprise as she inched to the other side of the room to turn off the next song. “I heard the music and I just came in to see what was going on. The door was open.” She stood for a moment before bursting into giggles.

“Sorry!” she gasped between her bouts of laughter. “I forgot the door was open.” She settled down after a few minutes as I stood there, shifting my weight between my feet. “How can I help you?”

“Like I said, I was just curious. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Well,” she breathed, “this is my dance studio!” Her arms spread wide to showcase the room around us. “I teach all types of dance to kids. Ballet, jazz, hip-hop, ballroom… The list goes on.”

“I took dance lessons for some of my theatre productions in Uni. Well, not particularly dance, but choreography” I told her, trying to find a common ground between us.

“Really! What plays?”

“A whole slew of them, really. A lot of Shakespeare.”

“I love Shakespeare!”

“What’s your favorite play?” I asked.

“ _Othello_.”

“Mine too!”

“No way! That’s so crazy.” She grinned a fabulous grin. Her smile could end a thousand wars!

“What a strange coincidence. Can I ask why?”

“Could you ask over coffee? I’ve got a class coming in soon.” She grinned again, a gleam of hope in her eyes.

“Absolutely!” _Score one for Hiddleston._

“What’s your name? I’m (y/n).” She held out her hand for me to shake. _She doesn’t know who I am? This is fantastic!_

“I’m Tom,” I said, taking her hand and firmly shaking it.

“Well, Tom, how about tomorrow? Eleven-ish?”

“Sounds wonderful (y/n).” I took her hand again, pressing my lips to her knuckles. “Until then.”


End file.
